The Fall of Gaston
by BronyBraeburn
Summary: Gaston had the opportunity to walk away, what made him decide to kill the Beast?


_Author's Note: Thank you ArtFlourish for giving me a title._

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><p>"Get out," the Beast growled, tossing Gaston to the side as if he was garbage.<p>

Yes, that was a great idea. He couldn't defeat the Beast on his own, not without his musket and bow to shoot him from afar. Although he told everyone he killed the bear that was now a rug in the tavern up close and personal, truth was he shot it from a distance with the musket, and when the bear failed to die in one hit, a quick arrow to the eye pierced the brain and the animal fell dead. LeFou wasn't around that time, cowering at home when he went to avenge a farmer who lost his prize milk cow to the bear's hunger. As long as no one else knew the truth, he didn't care how fantastical the stories of his hunting were. Everyone knew he was a superior marksman, even with the unreliable musket, never failing to show off his abilities at any and all celebrations, so no one would doubt his boasting. The Beast never once showed himself to the village, and Belle somehow survived the winter in his clutches, so surely if he just quietly left, the Beast would not pursue him. He would tell everyone how the Beast tumbled dead over the side of the castle after a long and courageous battle over the rooftops where he always had the upper hand, toying with and mocking his opponent like a cat would play with a mouse before devouring it, and they would sing his praises just as loudly if he presented a carcass to skin and mount.

"Beast!"

But that one word derailed his plans and filled him with such rage that he had never felt before. He looked up and saw a concerned Belle reaching out to the Beast from a balcony, needing his touch to assure her he was alive and well. If she was confident in her abilities, no doubt she would climb down and meet him halfway. In an instant, he knew she would never be his, and marrying her would only make his home life hell. Oh she would no doubt cook and clean and perform all the household duties sufficiently as a wife must, but she would always be defiant and cold, even if she acted meek and submissive. If there weren't three of them, the triplets would make an ideal wife, catering to his every whim, showering him with praise for his masculine ability, and encouraging her marital duty while keeping him immensely satisfied as they waited for his sons to develop and be born. He might as well hump a rock for all the pleasure it would give him if he was going to depend on Belle for his sons. How could he keep a jovial attitude at the tavern at night if his days were spent in misery? He was Gaston; he refused to tolerate an impersonal wife while the common man took joy from his chosen woman, and if he couldn't take pleasure from Belle, no one would.

Sticking to the shadows, he quietly crawled up the roof tiles, purposefully allowing the Beast to reach her before he did. If she would take joy from the Beast's massive paw touching her hand, then it would hurt even more to watch him die in her arms.

"You came back," the Beast said softly, disbelief and joy in his tone as he caressed his beautiful Belle, creating the perfect moment for Gaston to strike. Just when she thought her precious pet was safe, he quickly stabbed the Beast, pushing the blade up to the hilt into his body, smiling cruelly as he knew he made a fatal blow. The Beast was defeated, Belle was in horror, and he was still the greatest hunter in the whole world. He looked more like an animal then the Beast ever did as he reveled in his victory. First Belle would watch him die, and then she would join him in death. The village would be told that he watched the Beast tear her apart, and in his rage to avenge the death of his one true love, he cut up the still-living animal and made it die a slow, painful death, the remains too battered and torn to be a proper trophy. Ballads would be sung all over the country in his honor, and fathers would parade their daughters from miles around to his door, desperate for the chance to marry his girl to the finest, most romantic man in all of France! Life was PERFECT!

He leaned back to get enough power to stab the Beast square between the shoulders and end his suffering, but suddenly he lost his balance and felt himself beginning to fall backwards. He dropped the knife and spun his arms wildly like a windmill, desperate to get a better grip on something, anything to preserve his life, even if it meant losing the opportunity to extend his fame to the entire country rather than a small village, but his efforts were futile. He looked down, praying there was something he could fall onto to save him: more roof, the castle grounds, a flat rock face, anything, but there was only open air as he plummeted into the ravine.

His last moments were spent praying that the villagers never found out the truth about his death.


End file.
